


i'd love to fall and see it through (but only if you told me to)

by safeandsound13



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: AU, Body Swap, F/M, alternative universe, bye, its too late for this, kind of a body swap but its not happening to them, or naaaaaaaah, so whatever
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-25
Updated: 2015-10-25
Packaged: 2018-04-28 04:04:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,216
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5077078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/safeandsound13/pseuds/safeandsound13
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Scott and Allison swap bodies and it's up to Stiles and Lydia to figure out how to swap 'em back since those two idiots are too busy falling in love. / Or, the body swap AU no one asked for and no one will get either.</p>
            </blockquote>





	i'd love to fall and see it through (but only if you told me to)

**Author's Note:**

> i started this about five thousand years ago and most of it is a little edited but at one point my brain was so fried from studying for exams all week, nothing made sense to me anymore. all the italics and thus the emphasis were lost in the copy and pasting of this fic. maybe i'll edit it later, but until then, rip. so heres a fic, hope you like it, and if you don't thats okay. i'm here for you.
> 
> i know nothing i am dumb dont hold anything against me<3 
> 
> STYDIA TODAY, STYDIA TOMORROW, STYDIA FOREVER xD xD xD hihihihihi
> 
> song in title by hunter hayes and song in the fic by little mix, yaaaaaaaaaas

.

_t_ _ake a sip of my secret potion_

_i'll make you fall in love_

_for a spell that can't be broken_

_one drop should be enough_

.

"Is this a joke?" Lydia tsks, arms crossed over her chest as she watches Allison pace the room and Scott stand stoically in front of her, which  _is_  kind of unusual. She purses her lips, elaborating, "Because I have an extra credit report on quantum mechanics due in about twelve hours and I haven't start—"

"This is serious!" Allison exclaims, uncharacteristically panicked as she runs her hands through her hair. She looks both equally exhausted and scared. "I woke up with boobs!"

Stiles, on the bed next to his strawberry blonde I Only Tolerate You Because My Best Friend Likes To Hang Out With Yours-friend, practically facepalms, sighing tiredly. He's running low on everything (sleep, sugar... the will to live) but the undeniable urge to finish the next level of All Zombies Must Die! so listening to his friends tell him they're  _airquote_  body swapped  _airquote_ , kind of makes him want to claw out his eyes.

This has to be some kind of elaborate joke or scheme that's making light of like, actual body swapped people (?) and totally not funny—and okay, maybe it's a  _little_  funny and he's kind of jealous he didn't come up with it himself, but still. They're like, in college. They're supposed to be almost adults and learning stuff like paying taxes and mundane work stuff, not pretending to be in someone else's body.

No matter how he spins it, Scott is still his best friend and he's not the kind of person to lie, so maybe he'll just roll with it for now. Or at least like, not run off and scream crazy and call Melissa, all concerned and snitch-y.

"This is all your fault," Scott (Allison?) grumbles, facing Allison (Scott?—okay damn, this  _is_ confusing) with a dangerous glare in his eyes, hands in his sides, "My physical test for the police academy is next week. If I can even convince them I am Allison Argent and they  _don't_  lock me up in a mental hospital—how the hell am I supposed to complete an 8 mile run when you need an inhaler after five steps?"

"I'm sorry, okay," Allison says, softly, and even without Scott's trademark puppy eyes it feels like they just kicked a kitten and boasted about it on social media. "I didn't mean to, I just… I don't know." She shakes her head, biting on her bottom lip and Stiles feels the need to wrap her in a warm blanket and offer her some hot chocolate. Maybe force her to watch Star Wars, just. Because.

"Well, how about next time Liam tells you to go check out a hole in the woods in the middle of the night, you don't?" Scott snaps, brows furrowed close together and hands balled at his sides. "And when you think, oh hey, this rock looks super cool and exotic, maybe  _don't_  pick it up?"

Stiles manages to  _not_  reach out and hug his best friend in his other normal friend's body as he watches Allison's shoulders sag, eyes apologetic and sighing sadly. Over her dead body that the Real Allison would ever show any weaknesses in semi-public, he notes. Kinda physically impossible to switch bodies, he notes, also.

"Wait, so what were you doing in the woods?" Lydia cuts in, eyebrows raised in moderate curiosity, apparently having accepted the ridiculous theory that they are, in fact, in  _each other's bodies_.

Really? What's next? There's a makeover that involves glasses-shaming someone, or Allison/Scott takes Scott/Allison out on a lake with a boat and yells stuff about letters and there's a bunch of white birds involved? Is Isaac going to come back from his semester in France and take over his life and he's going to have to slap him because he's french?

Scott scoffs, clenching his jaw, "Target practice, as I always do." He shoots a pointed look at Allison, "In the woods. At night. So if I miss, there's no one around."

He lets the words linger in the air for some dramatic effect before continuing like he's trying to talk a toddler out of putting his paint-covered little claw on his white walls, slowly and surely, like he's about to lose his patience. "He  _yelped_  so I went to check it out, next thing I know, I wake up in my bed—blacked out, considering that I was date-rape drugged, or kidnapped, or possibly  _died_ , only to look in the mirror and see a curly haired mexican boy staring back at me."

"Yeah, I think I drew the very long straw on that end," Allison adds, shyly, running a hand over her neck as a blush forms on her cheeks.

(He almost does really gasp this time, a little offended at the assumption, because Scott, however his best platonic friend in the world, is like, total  _I'd do you if you asked_  material. Even heterosexually speaking. Okay, maybe a little bi-ish speaking. He hasn't completely figured it out yet since his entire sexual orientation has been pretty much Lydia Martin ever since he met her.)

"Do you guys realize this is kind of fifty shades of awes—" Stiles start to say, trying to break some of the awkward, possibly sexual, tension but then his  _my-bff-was-body-swapped_ -counterpart that he might or might not have a little crush on cuts him off, look of disdain on her face, like she's annoyed just being here, "Insane."

"No shit," Scott blurts out, and the bickering start—something about the clothes Allison's body is wearing and the assumption they checked out each other's  _junk_ —and Stiles has seen enough teenage romcoms to know this is step one in We Totally Don't Like Each Other But Because Of This [Insert Problem] We Realize We Kinda Do, Actually.

(He won't confirm nor deny he watched those movies voluntarily and enjoyed them, too. Actually, he will. Confirm. His masculinity isn't that fragile.)

Him and Lydia pass the time alternating between annoyed little sighs and

awkward exchanges of looks, since they're like, literally fifth-wheeling some very weird foreplay right now. He knows she kind of doesn't really  _like_  him, so being forced to witness the hot mess happening in front of him must not be her desired leisure time activity. He kind of likes her though, although he thinks he's just as subtle about his fondness for her as she is about her dislike for him. So, like a brick, burning grenade through a huge thin glass window. Or something.

"Ugh," Scott groans, rubbing his forehead with two fingers, after three very uncomfortable long minutes, "Do you see what is happening? We can't talk about this for  _two seconds_  without arguing."

"Technically not my problem," Lydia mutters, inhaling sharply. Like, their friends get into weird, magic, supernatural situations like this all the time. Like, it's a common occurrence that she's just mildly annoyed at.

Allison swallows tightly, nudging a big backpack next to the bed with her foot, "The stone's in my bag, could you guys maybe take a look at it?" She sounds unsure, motioning at Lydia, "I know you're super talented with languages and stuff and Stiles, well. He reads 500 page trivia encyclopedias for fun." She licks her bottom lip, hesitating, "So… So I figured maybe you guys could help? If you want to?"

Lydia turns to look at him, eyebrow hiked and he grins, not taking her eyes off her as he informs their friends, "Well, you had me at 'I woke up with boobs'."

.

"Hey."

It's been three days since they were informed of Allison and Scott's  _problem_ —they hadn't really talked beside a text message dividing the tasks of solving the Great And Only Known So Kind Of Great By Default Bodyswap Of 2015 between them, since their friends were pretty much useless anyway. Too busy pretending not to be attracted to each other and all, which was weird now, since they were kind of attracted to themselves? Whatever, he'd rather not think about it.

He checks, just to be sure she isn't talking to anyone else, before his eyes widen and he nods at her. "H-hey."

They  _never_  talk in public, let alone during lunch time in the quad when they're surrounded by the entire school. Their friendly acquaintanceship is strictly nods of acknowledgement in class, awkward ' _we know each other but do we really_ ' glances at parties and some passionate arguments in the company of their own best friends. Only in company of friends. Otherwise their conversations are pretty one sided. His side. Full disclosure and all.

It's not like it's for lack of trying, on his part, not really. He pretty much worships the ground Lydia Martin walks. Unfortunately, she likes to walk on three inch heels and on top of his romantic hopes and dreams, and like, dignity. He's 96% sure there's a catchy Taylor Swift song in the making somewhere along the lines of their… relationship.

"Did you think I was talking to the empty seat next to you?" She sounds snarky, but she's actually smiling, which he hopes is a good sign, as she sits down next to him, throwing a stack of files down next to his oreos.

He pops one of them in his mouth, shrugging and rolling his eyes, as he declares, "Sea-mhed mwore lywkely."

She scrunches up her nose, putting her bag down next to her, "You're disgusting." She crosses her legs and he pretends he's not staring. He loves summer, because summer is when she always wears these really pretty dresses that make her legs look killer and her amber eyes stand out. He could do without the burning heat, and the drought, and pretty much anything else besides the dresses. He kinda just loves Lydia Martin in a dress, really.

"At least I have my looks going for me, right?" He remarks, not at all sarcastic, grinning goofily, oreo probably covering his teeth, but he doesn't care because she laughs, a little, shaking her head.

Clearing her throat lightly, she pulls one of the files out of the stack, a photograph of the stone, "I figured out what some of it means." Their hands touch briefly as he tries to drag the image closer and he decides to hide his by the only way he knows how. His only weapon of defense. Sarcasm.

"' _Don't touch this stone, your spirit will be exchanged with the nearest person and you'll be stuck in their body forever_ '?" He retorts, munching on another oreo as he studies the picture.

"Something like that, actually," she replies, running a finger over the inscription on the stone. To him, it are just a bunch of symbols, to her, it apparently means something. "It's archaic latin—"

"You speak archaic latin?"

She inhales sharply, " _Yes_ , no, actually I don't. It's a dead language, I just read it." At his skeptical look she elaborates, sighing, "You'd be surprised how boring classical latin is."

He smiles, bright and happy, because he knows she doesn't like to boast about it, but Lydia Martin is like, super smart. Not smart as in, she gets all straight A's and is president of the debate club, but like  _certified genius_  smart. He thinks that's kind of cool.

"Somehow, I can imagine," he deadpans, tapping on the photo as she bites on her bottom lip. "So? Any cures? Blood sacrifice? Any first new borns to be offered to any ancient Gods? Just plain, unoriginal and boring death?"

"No, it doesn't say anything about a solution," she states, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear as she examines the image in front of her, with narrowed, decisive eyes. He realizes he's  _kind of_ staring at the side of her face, and since that's  _kind of_  creepy, looks down at the photo also. She seems distracted as she adds, "At least not in the parts I've translated. There's something about the full moon, but I couldn't place it into context."

He thinks about it for a second, tries the whole not staring thing simultaneously. They're doing this for Scott and Allison, after all. No need to make it weird by giving off stalker vives.

He bites on the inside of his cheek, tapping on the picture excitedly a few times, like if he doesn't, he'll forget his train of thoughts, "Didn't they use the moon as a way to tell time in the middle ages? I mean, not like, hours, that's the sun, but days. One cycle of the moon meant—"

"27.322 days. Yes. The time it takes for the moon to circle the earth." She nods, mainly to herself, as she seems think it over. Then, her head snaps over to face him, eyebrows raised, "So, in a month…  _what_?"

He rubs the back of his neck in thought, "Not a month per se. 27 days—that's, it's a sidereal month. But since the earth also rotates—"

"—around the sun, it takes longer for the moon to reach it's original position in front of it, which makes it a synodic month.  _Yes_. We should add another 2.2 days."

His shoulders hunch a little, disappointed that's all the can come up with right now. He kind of wanted to crack this as soon as possible. Not to be a total nerd, but he has like exams, in a week. Also, he wants his best friend back. It's kind of weird bro-hugging Allison when there's like, boobs involved now. "29.5 days, huh. Before what? The apocalypse?"

"Maybe, if we're lucky, but considering Scott didn't coincidentally pick up that rock during a new moon—"

"We have even less time until the next new moon." He sighs, kind of hopeless, kind of bummed out. From the top of his head, he suggests, "Something like two weeks, maybe even less."

"We'll figure it out," she says, all calm and steady while squeezing his knee, which is unfamiliar but not entirely unwelcome. It's  _nice_. Comforting. He's not stupid or delusional—she's  _always_  touchy with guys in that casual normal way, just never with  _him_. "We have to."

"Yeah, we kind of do, don't we?" He offers her half a grin, "I mean, Allison got her period yesterday and I practically had to talk Scott off a ledge. He thought he was dying, and refused to text Alli so we eventually had to Google ' _how to use tampons_ '." He grimaces, making a mental note to delete his internet history soon before some clown gets his buffoon-y claws on it ( _Liam_ ). "I've known Scott since I was like five. Kind of a surreal experience."

"Well,  _Scott_  gets excited pretty easily. We got some very weird looks at Macy's when were shoe-shopping." She smirks, almost deviously. "Never knew McCall had a kink for leopard print."

"Good to know though. So I can like, burn every leopard print object in my possession."

She laughs, loud and so beautiful, informing him, "We got this," as she collects her items, patting his shoulder before leaving.

Deciding she's right and to use his google search bar for anything else besides tampons and girl hair products, he gets to work. He has some supernatural body swap shit to solve.

.

"Get your damn act together, McC—Argent!  _Damnit_."

He offers Lydia a reece's piece—which she, after some careful consideration, accepts—nodding towards Allison, receiving a third volleyball straight in the face, and Scott, seeming a little too into the game for just being an innocent, casual bystander at his totally platonic friend's volleyball game. "They're so subtle, aren't they?"

"Kind of hopeless," she mumbles, trying to avoid eye contact like  _she_  wasn't the one who sat down next to  _him_  and was totally embarrassed by it, too. She takes a bite of the chocolate in her hand and he resists the urge to roll his eyes as he watches his two friends start to squabble on the middle of the field.

"I went to the library. Found something on the stone," he informs her, deciding not to look at her if she wants to pretend like they're just coincidentally sitting next to each other and aren't on speaking terms.

Her head snaps to his, like she's surprised—even after all of their discussions ranging from  _dress codes are totally sexist_  to  _the influence of christianity on european colonialism_ , and from  _the ability to break the laws of physics_  to  _the level of ridiculousness of Donald Trump's hairdon't_ —like she thought he wouldn't pull through, or had been faking it, or something. Like she doesn't expect too much of him.

He refuses to look back at her, because he's trying out this totally new chill attitude in which he doesn't care about her any more than he would care about any other classmate. (Except he actually does so it's taking every ounce of his self-restraint, but he manages—heart beating loudly in his chest.)

"What…" She tries out, pausing, like her voice is failing her. Clearing her throat, "What did you find?"

"Most likely originates from Corsica, in the Mediterranean Sea, let's say from 200 to 100 BC. Probably brought here during the second world war, and disregarded as a dumb stone—which is understandable, but also super stupid considering it turned our friends into, like our different friends. That makes sense, right? Uhm, some stuff about the spirits of nature. I could probably link it to some of your translations," he flushes, and gone is his chill, because, proximity and like, foot in his mouth, and spastic hand movements when he talks, "I mean, once you're done. Take your time, if you, if you want, of course."

"No, yeah," she says after a moment, shaking her head to herself, wall of distance coming up again, "I finished the entire left side, some of it faded—or eroded I guess, so I'm still working on the rest."

"Cool," he nods, talking more to himself than anyone else, and she blinks at him, before turning back to the game and wincing every time Scott yells a little too loudly and Allison is a little too bad at the game.

He sighs, as he watches Allison kick a ball over the net, Scott almost getting a stroke, red spots covering his face and neck. He repeats, softly, annoyed at himself and the situation, "Cool."

 _Cool_ , as in, totally not him.

.

He's checking his texts on his walk to the woods behind the school, ignoring what a classic horror movie set-up this is—Scott's ' **dude i literally just went into the men's room and didnt realize that i was a chick until i looked into the mirror and was surrounded by a bunch of muscled horny college boys. bein a girl is scary'**  distracting him enough to walk into Lydia and Liam at the same time.

"Watch where you're going," grumbles Liam, fist balled as he uses his free hand to brush off his shirt. Stiles would make a retort about how many micro-organisms Hayden's mouth consists of, if he wanted to lose a limb. Liam's a little tiny angry kitten with serious anger issues and even sharper claws. He likes talking about his friends in animal metaphors, okay? Let him live.

Lydia just sighs, tiredly as she picks up her phone from the ground, shaking off the dirt. He mutters an apology, half-assed, because he's not totally sorry for being a tiny bit distracted with the fact his best friend has magically ended up in different person's body, like, any licensed psychologist would vouch for him.

"So, you guys want me to take you guys to the exact same hole I almost broke my back in and Scott and Allison ended up in a screwed up version of Freaky Friday?" Liam checks, not waiting for an answer as he holds aside a branch, deadpanning, "Just checking."

 _Of course_  she informed Liam. They have this weird mother-son vibe going on. She cross-examines all of his potential girlfriends, implying she'll stab them if they hurt him, and he does pretty much anything she says. He can't blame her, because if she hadn't told him, he probably would have. Him and Liam have an understanding. He shares Scott with him and Liam mostly listens when he asks him to do something.

"By checking out the origin of the problem, maybe we can find the solution," Lydia speaks for the first time since he arrived, and Liam huffs, like he's got it all figured it out, "Have they tried just running into each other repeatedly?"

He sends a look towards Liam, but his back is turned so the effect is kind of lost. The girls amidst them takes a different approach, starting to scientifically explain to him why that would work in that patient teacher voice, like she expects him to actually care. Collision theory and laws of physics and all.

"Can we just for the record state how fucking weird this is?" Stiles retorts, cutting her off mid sentence, slightly freaked out by the serial killer vibe these woods are giving off. Like getting hit in the face by a murderous branch, ouch. He winces, and Lydia sends him an amused look over her shoulder to which he pretends he's completely fine and didn't almost just got his eye poked out. His chill is one hundred percent.

"Noted," she replies, as they come to a halt in front of a giant hole in the ground. In the middle of the woods. For no explicable reason whatsoever. Aliens?

"You guys sure you want to stay here?" Liam checks, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. Strange shit has happened here, and Liam probably feels a little responsible for pointing Scott the way and getting him  _inside_  of Allison. Not in the sexy way, either.

Stiles looks over at Lydia, pragmatic, because he wouldn't like, turn to drugs and spiral down into a depression if they left right now. She looks pretty confident they won't get murdered in cold blood, so he rolls with it, shrugging his shoulders. "Yeah. We're cool."

"It's your funeral," Liam states, pointing a thumb over his shoulder as he gives the depth below them a wary look. "I'm, uh, meeting Mason. So. Bye."

Lydia just humm, dismissing him as she holds back her hair, leaning forward and bending down just a little to take a look inside. He gulps, because her ass is like, crafted by the god's themselves and he has pretty low standards to begin with. Then, he remembers he's not a savage and squats down next to her.

"I don't see anything too out of the ordinary," he states, neck flushed but she hopefully doesn't know why.

Who is he even? Scott and Allison are dealing with  _real_  problems. Scott's face has been covered in band-aids for days (Allison tried to shave) and Allison's hair and makeup have never been so  _straight out of bed, last night's smudged gothic_ (Scott didn't even try he thinks). Okay, so those aren't  _real_  real problems either, but still. Worse than him having to play nice with Lydia while he knows she hates him and he has to try really hard to keep his dick in check. He's that person, honestly.

She shines her phone's camera light into the crater, finding it just as empty as assumed. No additional rocks, or decipherable symbols, or notes from the gods informing them  _whaddup and here's the solution to all your problems, kisses_. Just nothing.

"This is slightly disappointing," she sighs, running a hand through her hair, and he still feels this distance between them, like she's talking to the air, not him. He looks up at her, eyebrows raised, as he gets back upon his feet, "You think we were going to find the book of answers?"

"No," she sulks, almost pouting, before kicking a random rock in the hole, "I just… I don't know. I wanted to fight  _something_. Anything."

He nods, agreeing, "I know this must sound shallow, because you're like, supposed to love your best friend no matter what, right? But, I don't know, I kind of miss Scott. I know it's just been him in Allison's body, but," he pauses shrugging, "I don't know. It  _feels_  different."

"Yeah," she breathes, hands in her sides as she's looking at him and it kind of feels personal and intimate and really weird in his stomach, "I know what you mean."

He realizes for the first time, him and Lydia share something in common. He knocks his shoulder against hers, grinning goofily to break some of the tension, "Come on. We can try and find literally anything that'll make this trip worthwhile. Like, I'll settle for a feather of some kind of Mexican bird so I can link it to the Aztecs."

She laughs, knocking her shoulder back into his, and it's nice, and it almost feels normal. There's some literary beauty in this probably, right? Like he's standing right next to a hole and he's in too deep.

They research some more of the property, even going so far as taking dirt with him, just to confirm what they already know. It's a complete bust.

.

She takes a swig of her red cup, pulling on the bottom of her dress, before patting down the side of her hair, "I feel kind of wrong, like I'm taking advantage of her body? That's totally not awesome."

God, it's almost hilarious how fratboy Allison sounds right now.

He manages to not smirk too widely as he nudges her with his elbow, "Bro, it doesn't look like she has the same objections." Allison's eyes narrow in on Scott, arm above a girl's head, leaning in close. Which is a new sight, since he's usually not that smooth, or quick. Allison has some serious talents.

"She does know I kind of have a girlfriend, doesn't she?" She groans, downing the rest of the liquid in her cup as Lydia comes over to the keg, filling her own cup with beer. "I told you guys it was a bad idea to come here when you," she lowers her voice, cheeks flushed from the alcohol, " _aren't feeling like yourself_. Especially not when Allison is trying to make a point." She laughs, to herself, "Allison is  _very_  skilled at making points."

"Seriously? Just because I accidentally forgot I was her and talked to Jackson in an empty classroom? I didn't know he was going to twist it like I came onto him," Allison sulks; again, pulling on the bottom of her dress as she refills her cup. Scott looks over, waving cynically—blatantly ignoring the technically homo-erotic situation going on there—and Allison groans loudly.

Lydia points at him with her drink, missing by about half a feet, "And added some rumours about how you were  _nekkid_."

"Right," Allison agrees, crossing and uncrossing her arms as she watches himself brush a hand over some poor girl's arm. "How was I supposed to know?"

"He's a slut," Stiles offers as he shrugs idly, "Kind of ruined her rep. I suggest you just go apologize before she, as  _you_ , makes out with someone's girlfriend and your body gets it's ass kicked."

"Or worse, she finds dean Reyes's catholic daughter and gets you," Lydia tries to whisper, but she isn't really, eyes narrowed dangerously, kind of adorable, " _Expelled_."

Allison seems to consider it for another second before reluctantly shuffling over to Scott and his new catch. He turns to look at Lydia, raising his eyebrows appreciatively.

"Harry Potter reference, nice."

"Your face is nice," she retorts, like it's an insult and he raises his eyebrows, amused as he puts a hand over his heart, feigning hurt, "That one really got me, Lyds.  _Ouch_."

"Shut up," she replies, but she's smiling, real and wide and so pretty, leaning her head against his shoulder. "Your face  _is_  kind of nice.  _Sometimes_. But don't remember I said that."

He adjusts his cap, looking down at her, "It's probably the alcohol talking." He grins, because it never really occurred to him that in any universe or parallel timeline Lydia could ever like him back, so he'll take whatever he can get it. Even if they are drunken comments, that are only half-assed compliments if you squint. He'll take anything, really.

"I feel like you would never make-out with the dean's daughter and get me expelled if you were me." She blinks up at him, eyes bright and wide with blissful drunk ignorance, lips slightly parted and stretched into half a smile. He's momentarily incapacitated, because, seriously, it should be illegal to be that gorgeous.

He wets his lips, recovering as smooth as possible, since it was kind of a compliment, he thinks. "T-thanks?"

"I'm sorry I'm so mean to you sometimes," she tells him, small but confident, like it's exactly what she wanted to say anyway, reaching out to play with the buttons of his flannel.

"It's okay?" He offers, because he always just figured she was that way to everyone. Especially to him because he was a little pushy and always thought he knew everything better. He never thought she felt bad about it. "I get it. I annoy you. I deserve to be snarked at, really."

She smiles, soft and bright and all straight, white teeth as she leans the side of her head against his neck, "You're too sweet. Guys are never sweet. It's suspicious."

He's been called a lot of things, but never shady. That's a new one. He snickers, a little, considering if he should just end the conversation right now before it gets out of hand and she'll regret ever speaking to him in the morning. "I'm sorry. I'll be an asshole next time we talk."

She squints her eyes at him for a moment, like she can't really believe it, that he's finally showing his true colors or something, then she's back to smiling, "I'm going to dance. Are you going to dance? You should dance."

She's already pulling on his hand, but he remains unmoving, forcing a smile on his face, thinking that Lydia rubbing on him in public right now was maybe a little too much of an overkill. "No, no, that's okay. You go ahead and, uh, I'll catch up."

_So, Your Name Is Stiles Stilinski (Kinda) And You Like Cockblocking Yourself? -- the guide for confused dumb boys_

However nice it may be that she's acknowledging he's a person, she's drunk and he isn't going to get lost in a fantasy. Not when there's a mystery—that completely redefines the term ' _out of body experience_ '—to solve.

.

"I'm sorry that I'm majoring in political science and criminology and not animal body parts," he presses, voice hushed as he hides behind an anatomical book, slouched in his seat.

"This is important to me, Allison, like, at least I  _tried_  to get you a good grade," she whispers in response, angrily flipping through a folder of notes. It started out relatively quiet, but their voices are getting louder by the sentence. Stiles is pretty sure the librarian is about to have a stroke from all the shushing he's been doing.

"On top of deciphering an old ass stone, I'm going to have to tutor Scott, aren't I?" He sighs, taking a bite of his twizzler, although not without difficulty since it's all sticky and humans evolved out of their incisor teeth phase.

"Probably," she deadpans, not taking her eyes of her own textbook, marking a sentence in a neat, straight yellow line. They haven't really talked about their drunk rendez-vous, just went back in full-on talking shit mode, "You know you're not allowed to eat in here, right?"

She glances over at him, unimpressed look in her eyes and he just grins back, "You know you're going to have to help Allison, too, right?"

She looks back at her book, ignoring the scene of whisper-fight playing in front of them, sighing loudly, "Don't remind me. Her annoying personal motto is ' _I can do it myself_ ' and since she now has Scott's puppy eyes to work with, I can't even yell at her for it."

"Well, if you need to de-stress, I'm here for you," he says, impulsively, flipping through his notebook distractedly, without even considering the consequences of what he just implied.

He almost chokes on his twizzler, coughing loudly and earning a few strange looks and another deadly ' _shut the fuck up, I'm not paid enough to deal with your continued shit'_  glare from the librarian as he flushes, patting himself on the chest and shooting around a few apologetic glances. When he's done recovering, he leans closer to her, still red in the face, "I mean—not for like..  _that_. But to kick my ass, or something, you know? To get rid of the anger.  _That_  was my suggestion. Not for anything totally inappropriate and, st-stupid. I'll just shut up." He mouths a 'what the fuck' to himself as he shakes his head, adding another item to the list of Reasons To Ask For A Muzzle For Christmas.

"Stiles, chill," she whispers back, sounding relatively amused, and when he gathers enough courage to look at her, she's smirking, "What are you, a virgin?"

Okay, harsh. He's been with girls, mind you. But it's not like he can tell her that like,  _hey, I've sexed before but I'm so into you I usually just don't bother with it anymore_? That would be awkward.

He swallows hard, tripping over his own tongue, "N-no, I just don't want to make you feel uncomfortable? Or come across as a total creepy dick?"

She looks at him like she's expecting a punchline, her hand hovering doubtfully over his before putting it on top of it. She opens her mouth to speak, but then closes it like she's conflicted, before informing him, "Scott once asked me why society locks up criminals instead of giving them the chance to rehabilitate which is basically the Scott equivalent of ' _why don't we just all bake cakes together_ ' and coincidentally the exact opposite of political science, so good luck with that."

.

"Wow, this is awe—" she slaps his hand away, looking around with narrowed eyes to check if anyone else is watching them. "Don't touch anything," she hisses, before straightening her back and brushing imaginary dust off her dress.

"It looks like all their informational files are in their offices," he says, admiring a fertility vase from Greece and reading the bullshit shallow explanation that comes with it. If they want any real intel, the museum isn't going to hand it to them on a silver platter. So much for thinking a museum could get them further than a hole in the ground.

"Let's get in there then," she mutters, sending him a glare as he reaches out for the vase. He winces apologetically, stuffing his hands in his pockets, sarcastically, "Okay, sure, Nikita. Let me just go dismantle the cameras and you can blow down the door. I'll drive the getaway Jeep."

"First-aid is right next to the office reading 'confidential files'." She points a finger at the sign, giving him an unimpressed look.

Wheels start spinning in his head and within twelve seconds he's whipping out a plan, "Right. So I'll pretend dead so they take me there to chill me down, I'll tell them I need my sister, which in this case, is you, by the way, and we—"

She rolls her eyes, loving the fact she's able to point out flaws in all of his plans, "We look nothing alike."

"Yeah," he snorts, giving her an incredulous look, "No one's going to believe you're my girlfriend either, sooooo."

She considers him for a moment, actually looks kind of touched, then, "How about your friend?"

"Right. Totally. They'll believe that. Maybe you took pity on me or something." He's not trying to sound pathetic or anything, just spitting the truth, honestly.

"Stiles," she says, and it's not in the 'I'm so annoyed at you right now' way she usually says it. It's soft, and kind of vulnerable. Her accompanied expression is… He doesn't know how to describe it because she's never looked at him like that. Aha, there's the pity part.

He rolls his eyes, nudging his head towards the door, as they make a move for it, "Come on. I'll faint or something and then you can—"

She unlocks the door, looking around for anyone before pushing him inside, forcing him to sarcastically note, "—or we just break and enter."

"Start looking," she snaps, like she's angry at him or something, but he doesn't remember doing anything wrong (like that time he used her sweater to wipe oreo ice cream of his shirt and she almost skinned him), so she might just be angry at herself. He leaves it for now, starting to skim through the files on the museum's exhibits.

"Someone's coming," she informs him, not even slightly panicked when he stumbles onto the 'CORSICA 500-100 BC' file, which nine out of ten he thinks is the right one. It's probably their best shot, anyway.

In a panicked rush, he shoves it down the back of his pants, hoping his belt will hold it in place until they get escorted to a police station. He'll be able to read it in jail, right? Totally.

"They're close," she mentions, peeking through the slight opening before closing the door completely, locking it. She presses her back against it, staring him down as he experiences a literal mental breakdown.

"Oh my god. I'm too frail for prison, Lydia! I'm like 152 pounds! My only defense mechanism is my sarcasm, do you think they'll put up with that? I'll be murdered on my first day there and we—"

She rolls her eyes, stepping closer to him, voices calling out for them to open up. "Stiles," she starts, a shut the hell up heavily implied, "I'm going to do something and you can't mention it again, okay?"

He just nods distractedly, too busy staring at the handle of the door begging wiggled around as she shoves all the files on the desk, off of it and pushes him against it. He gives her a terrified look and she takes in a sharp breath, connecting their lips just as the door opens. He doesn't even hear the person talking to them until Lydia pulls away, avoiding eye-contact as she puts up a valley girl front, apologizing and making up some bullshit story about  _just, like, totally being in love, ya know_?

They get scolded, the file stuffed in his back of his jeans burning a hole in his back, and that's that. No prison time whatsoever.

On their way to their cars she halts them, reaching out for his hand and squeezing once, hard and kind of uncomfortable.

"Stiles. I  _am_  your friend. Okay? And not out of pity or necessity because our best friends are practically dating. I like you, as a person. You're smart and funny and kind." She pauses, looking at him like she needs him to know this, before adding, "You're my friend."

"Okay," he nods and she nods back at him, and that's that. It's the day he gets friendzoned by Lydia Martin, and he couldn't be happier about it.

.

"You broke up with Kira?"

"She was trying to  _kiss_  me, while she's pretty and really nice, I don't feel entirely comfortable making out with her since I'm not a lesbian and she thinks I'm you," he crosses his arms across his chest, leaning back on the couch, huffing almost arrogantly like he has some kind of superiority over them, "I saw no other option."

Allison clenches her jaw, then unclenches it, trying to remain in control of her emotions, he groans, "I  _really_  liked her, Allison."

"Right." He seems almost pissed. "So if Isaac flies in from France tomorrow and leans in to plant one on you, you're going to go through with it?"

Allison looks over at him, almost dumbly, cheeks coloring like she think she's done something wrong, "Uhm… yeah?"

"Should we tell them they're actually into each other?" Stiles asks, burying his hand in the bowl of chips next to him and stuffing his mouth with them, eyes glued to the screen as he pilots the game with his free hand.

"Nah," Lydia replies in a bored tone, next to him on the floor, their friends on the couch behind them as she beats his ass in Def Jam, his Lil' Kim no match for her Snoop Dog. "I think they'll figure it out pretty soon."

"Hopefully before they permanently inhabit each other's body?" He wonders, groaning as the screens spells ' _KNOCK OUT_ ' and Snoop Dog does a victory lap around the ring.

They've made little progress, stuck because of unreadable archaic latin and his inability to do research without additional information. Their friends haven't caught on to their complete hopelessness yet (even desperate enough to just  _yahoo it_  like ew, is he right?)—too busy making heart-eyes at themselves—luckily, because he's restraining order close to losing it. He hates not being able to figure things out, to not be able to solve something. It's driving him absolutely crazy.

Then there's Lydia, totally cool and not at all helping the whole 'road to crazy town' thing by wearing  _insanely_  short skirts and smelling super nice. Like… the hell.

(He swears he's like ninety percent focused on this case, but there's also eight percent of being enamoured by Lydia and like, one percent of being horny around her. Which he thinks is pretty normal when you're  _this_ attracted to someone and you're like, a nineteen year old guy. Still, it makes him feel weird. Like he shouldn't think these things about her when she's in the same room, some kind of invasion of privacy. Also, an additional one percent dedicated to school, 'cause. He's like a nerd.)

She stretches out her legs—he tries not to stare—and straightens out her skirt, deliberately avoiding eye contact as she speaks, "I think I'm going to stop seeing Aiden."

He opens his mouth—and he's definitely staring at her now—but then closes it again. "Okay," he finally settles on, infinite amount of question marks implied but still relatively calm considering the way he's feeling as he gives her an incredulous look. She's having a conversation with him like they've talked about this before, like they're finishing an earlier one. And about her sorta-boyfriend out of all things for Yoda's sake.

She purses her lips in annoyance, like he's just supposed to get it or something. "It's kind of hard to talk to Allison when she's involved with her entire body swap existential crisis, making my problems seem kind of insignificant and, there's the part where she looks like Scott."

He hikes an eyebrow at her, licking his lips in thought, "But you can talk to me about it?" She looks uncomfortable, shifting a little, so he adds, teasingly, "It's because of my nice face, right?"

"You remember that? That's really embarrassing," she groans, throwing her head back before rubbing a hand over her face, "I was  _so_  shitfaced that night. Me and Aiden, we had a fight and I—I found out some stuff and it was like Jackson all over again."

"It's okay. I won't hold it against you," he grins, although he still vividly remembers the tone of her voice when she said 'you're too sweet. guys are never sweet' like it was a bad thing, like she had expected the worse, was used to the worse and it made him feel sick to his stomach. "Why  _do_  you want to break up?"

"I'm tired," she breathes, breaking eye-contact, as she shakes her head to herself, "Tired of being with the bad guys, tired of being treated badly."

He prides himself on keeping his voice even as he asks, "So who  _do_  you want to be with?" You know, just for future life goals.

"I don't know," she huffs, but she's smiling. Then it fades, and she takes a deep breath, like she's going to regret her next words, "Someone good." She licks her lips, then adds, "Someone nice."

Okay, he's not just making things up now, right? There's no way he's that delusional.

He swallows as he looks at her, and there's this moment, this moment where he thinks that he could probably kiss her now and she'd let him, but then his hearing starts to function normally again and it's not just her and him in the room anymore, but there's Scott and Allison, yelling about shit that he honestly couldn't care less about right now, but still there.

He blinks at her a few times as she turns away, shoving a controller to towards Allison like nothing happened and challenging her to a duel as he excuses himself to get more food, because like, stress and comfort and the complete urge to get  _so_  freaking chipfaced that he gets diabetes.

Because. What the hell?

.

"You know what was really smart? You figuring out we could just make them teach each other shit so we didn't have to," he states, leaning back on his desk chair with his arms behind his head.

It takes her a second to respond, too busy examining the picture in front of her as she's spread on top of his bed, "Uhh, yeah, I wasn't about to help Scott shave Allison's legs when I'm supposed to be devoting all my time to figuring out how to turn them back into themselves."

"Plus, laziness."

She gives him a nod in confirmation, sitting up and taking a sip of her coffee but spilling some of it on her shirt. "Damnit," she sighs, wiping at it and he gives her a weird look as he hands her more napkins. "Lyds, you okay? You seem.. distracted."

"Yeah," she looks at him, brow furrowed together and voice little higher than usual, "I'm fine." She throws the napkin on the table angrily as she informs him, while unbuttoning her blouse which,  _hello makes it kind of hard to focus?_  "I managed to translate another few of the inscriptions by using those images you send me, from the file from the museum. Does the phrase ' _ta pollá lógia eínai ftochia_ ' mean something to you?"

His eyes light up, happy to ignore the way she's now just in a flimsy tank top and to be able to be of any other use than just ogling her like a creep. "Yeah, it's a saying about, well, the literal translation is 'the many words are poor'," he rolls his eyes, "which basically just means 'talk is cheap' and probably in this context has to do with the fact actions speak louder than words be—" when he notices the look on her face his voice trails off, "but you… probably… already knew that."

"Then there's this," she shoves a picture his way, pointing at greek symbols. "I don't speak Greek, but I took the liberty to google it and it means—"

"' _You farted on my testicles_ ' or literally, you can't do anything about it," he cuts her off, huffing, and when he turns to her, curious expression on her face, he adds, "I took Greek for a semester." He looks back down, incredulous look on his face, "Is this stone just fucking with us now, or?"

"I don't know," she shrugs, groaning lightly, "I don't know. It's frustrating. I don't know if it's directed at them for thinking they can change back, or at us because we're trying to figure out a solution and it doesn't exist on the stone, or maybe not even at all." She rubs at her eyes with the back of her hands, before getting of the bed, pacing the room a little, "I hate this."

"We should probably tell th—"

"We're really bad at this, aren't we?"

"No?" He checks to see if she's serious, because she can't be, than a little offended even, "No. Remember that project on Problematic Trees and their influence on the quality of air? We were paired up and you refused to say more than two words to me but we still got an A? I think we're a pretty good team. This is just a particularly hard p—"

"I'm really sorry I'm such a bitch to you all the time. I'm just.. I'm not used to guys being nice to me just because of  _me_ , and not the way I look or because of what they've heard about me. I thought it was an act, and then I just really enjoyed discussing things with you because you actually knew what you were talking about seven out of ten times, but part of me still thought that the ' _Stiles is actually just another asshole_ ' shoe was going to drop any moment and I was going to be wrong. Like I had—have been so many times before."

He's just gaping at her really, trying to think of something, anything to say but she doesn't let him. She closes her eyes for a second, then looks back at him, stammering a little, "I never fall for the right guys, I think I'm broken." He's kind of pissed off at the world for letting her think that because she's not perfect, no one is, but she comes pretty damn close. Intimacy issues or not.

"Or maybe I do and I'm just the reason that they… I don't know. I don't want to ruin our friendship, but, I thought you should know. Why. Why I am so… Why I am the way I am."

He could say a million things right now, but she seems to be having a hard time expressing her feelings so he decides to take the lighter route, "So, what you're really saying is that you just have a boner for my brains?"

She smiles, biting down on her lip, happy he's letting the entire speech of weakness slide, "Do I wish I was the enzyme helicase so I could unzip your genes? Yes."

"If you were a concentration gradient I'd go down on you," he retorts proudly without skipping a beat, like he's actually thought about using that one before, then he flushes, shaking his head apologetically, "I'm so sorry. That one went so far, like too far. I'm sorry. I don't, I don't know why I… God." He groans and she laughs, loud and bright and he grins at the sound.

"Hey, you don't hear me opposing," she teases him, stepping a little closer, her breasts pressing against his chest. He's about to faint, he thinks?

"Don't we have to tell Scott and Allison they're like, doomed and their lives are over?" He asks, just to be sure, and because he likes, hates himself.

She puts her hands on the side of his face, pressing herself onto her tiptoes as she leans even closer, whispering, "I think they can wait another half hour, mhm?"

He only has so much self-control as he leans down to connect their lips, part of him still thinking he's dreaming or he, like, read her wrong and she was just checking the condition of his skin or something, but she kisses him back and it kind of makes any other thoughts fly from his mind.

He picks her up and throws her on the bed, making her laugh until the sound in her throat hitches as he breathes against her skin that, "Make that an hour and I'm all yours."

.

It's been two weeks and Scott's still Allison and Allison's still Scott and another new moon is coming up. Lydia asks, painful expression on her face as she watches Scott, as Allison, brush away some hair from Allison's, as Scott, face. "Should we tell them?"

"No, maybe wait until after they're done making out. I have one more theory," he states, finishing a level of candy crush before stuffing his phone back into his pants, his other arm around his girlfriend.

"Care to share your theory?" She raises her eyebrows, leaning into him and hoping they don't look  _too_  creepy, seated on a bench on the quad, watching their friends almost-make-out. "And don't say you rented—"

"I didn't rent Freaky Friday, if that's what you were going to say."

She lets out a sigh of relief as he opens his mouth again, "I rented that bad Kevin Zegers movie,  _it's a boy girl thing_? And—"

She rolls her eyes, pressing a fond kiss against his shoulder, like she's just brushing off his idiocy, "Stiles, seriously. If the answer wasn't in 3000 year old literature, it's not going to be in a ten year old b-movie starring Kevin Zegers."

"We'll see," he huffs mock-indignantly, nodding towards their friends as they leans in, lips almost touching. Then, when they finally do, they both pull away after a few seconds, grimacing.

"It's weird kissing myself, right? It's weird," Allison says, and Scott sighs, leaning his forehead against Allison's shoulder.

Lydia opens her mouth but he cuts her off, smugly, "Waaaaait for it."

"I'll deal with it if it means I get to be with you," Allison mutters against his head, before pressing a kiss there, and Stiles resists the urge to roll his eyes, because seriously, Scott is so freaking cheesy—but then there it is.

There's a lot of blinking at each other, then yelling and screaming and jumping and feeling each other up and hugging and being on the other end of a lot weird looks. A lot of -ing's going on, basically.

He smirks, squeezing her shoulder, "Told ya."

She locks her jaw, pursing her lips, as she crosses her arms over her chest, "Are you kidding me? All they needed to do was kiss?"

"Technically, yes," he grunts, kind of annoyed at himself for getting hardcore played by an ancient piece of rock, "I knew that stone was just screwing with whoever got it after those ridiculous sayings, I don't know what kind of cynic asshole created it but it figures it would be something this stupid. We were totally overthinking it."

She clicks her tongue, pausing for a second, then admitting, "That's… amazing."

"I know, right? If I ever randomly create a magically powered rock, I want to screw with people like that, too."

"I can't believe you figured it out before me."

He mocks a gasp, feigning hurt as he pokes in her in the side. "I can't believe you just said that,  _aloud_ , in my  _face_."

"Are you going to cry?" That's it. He starts tickling her sides until she's crying from laughter, pressing her nose against his neck. Still laughing a little, she tells him, "I'm kidding, I'm kidding. You're kind of good at figuring things out."

He kisses her, because he can, and she holds his hand while Scott and Allison rant about them not figuring this out sooner.

Life post-best-body-swapped-friends is pretty awesome, if he does say so himself.

.

_it's a spell that can't be broken_

_it'll keep you up all night_

_boy, you belong to me_

.

**Author's Note:**

> pls comment  
> #thirsty


End file.
